


Answered Questions from Theatrical Muse for Rupert Giles, One

by lycomingst



Series: Giles Watching [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycomingst/pseuds/lycomingst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I played Giles at "Theatrical Muse" on LJ for a few years. This is a series of questions I answered in Giles'name. There are also some additional pieces not related to questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answered Questions from Theatrical Muse for Rupert Giles, One

It wasn't what he expected, though it appealed to his sense of irony. He left a beautiful late spring day in the UK and landed in rainy California. The pilot, the flight attendant, and the shuttle driver who took him to the hotel all said how unusual it was to have rain so late in the season. And they all said, "Better than an earthquake". And laughed.

The hotel was modest, as were all the Council's choices for their Watchers. But he didn't care. It was just to rest up from the flight. Tomorrow he was on to his permanent base. Sunnydale, the Hellmouth. He would get set up in a flat (or apartment, getting used to the local term), awaiting the arrival of his books

Supposedly this Slayer was giving the Council some bother. She lost contact with her Watcher. Poor man. Giles had heard he was too ill to continue in that capacity, anyway. And the girl had some family trouble. Her parents seemed to be indulging in the American penchant for divorce.

As Giles unpacked his unextravagant suitcase, he thought how much the Council members must have enjoyed pulling strings to get him a job in the local high school. And manipulating the lives of the Slayer and her mother so that the woman had a job to go to after her break-up. On the Hellmouth.That must have delighted the old biddies. He could imagine them gloating during their tea break.

Well, he was out of it. That palace intrigue. Out in the field. He felt good about it. Excited, even. A fresh start. In rainy California.

The next morning he awoke, and the sky was as blue as any Hollywood film had ever told it would be.

 

***************************************************************************************

 

**If you could only carry one memory with you into the afterlife, which would you choose?**

I have given this some thought, and of course, as in the case of many questions, it is more complicated that it appears on the surface. I've been lucky in that I've had many good memories. But could I separate one, detaching it like a pearl from a necklace, and not have the context of the memory? I mean, could I feel the joy of seeing Buffy alive again without knowing the sorrow of her death? One would be meaningless without the other. Could I know the joy of seeing Buffy back among us, without knowing the horror I felt at Willow's opening a gate to hell?

No adult can do this, I believe. All my memories are linked to one another, one giving value to the other.

Children see things differently. Each day is discrete. No history, no future. So if I were to choose one memory, it would the day my parents and I went to Brighton.

I was ten. I was so excited because my father was to spend the day with me. This was such a rare occurrence that I'm sure I can recall every moment of that day. We took the train. Is there any greater pleasure for a boy? I'm sure I was a nuisance with my insatiable need to see everything I could and pumped the conductor for information.

The day as I remember was perfect. We picnicked on the sand. I even persuaded my father to go on the Ferris Wheel, and looking back now, I realized he never liked heights.

Of course, I fell asleep on the trip home, waking only when I was home and being put into my bed by my father. He said, "Good day, chum?"

"The best." I answered.

And it was.

What is the biggest obstacle you have overcome in your existence?

**The biggest obstacle everyone faces: oneself.**

We trip and shamble about in life. We get lost, or lose sight of out goal or discover what we focused on something has no value. I spent my young manhood denying that actions have consequences. Only being confronted with death, real death, and broken lives woke me from my self-indulgent dream.

Perhaps then I retreated too far. I wrapped myself in learning. I felt safe from my impulses. I would, no doubt, deny they existed. I have a natural talent for denial. Sort the equivalent of removing my glasses; if I say it's not there, it doesn't exist.

But the years pass and you realize that your early extravagant imaginings will never happen. You're too old to be a fighter pilot, or an astronaut. Or a boy genius novelist. It's a sad day when you come up against the fact that you're too old to be a boy genius anything. And I had to decide if I wanted to wake from my daydreams, where I was always right and heroic, and make a real life.

So I made sure I got the assignment to Sunnydale. And I haven't always been right or heroic since. I know myself better, though, and can see when the only thing standing in my way is me. Whether I can step out of my own path is something I'm still working on.

**What do you look for in a romantic partner?**

Will this be used as a questionnaire for a romantic pairing site? Can I expect emails from lonely souls out there who like my profile? Site, profile, you see, I can use the jargon of the internet. I used to make a fuss about the devilish construct of the world wide web. Now I am numbered in the devil's legion. I even have a small laptop. Perhaps I was just afraid of the infernal machine look of the standard computer.

As is sometimes the case, I've strayed off the subject.

When I came to California to be Buffy's Watcher, I left no heavy hearts back in London. I was circumspect in my …my 'love life', if you will. My real life was my work. I felt I had to make up so much time. No doubt, I felt a great need for atonement, too. But in my studies of evil, it quickly became clear to me that human sexual behavior just doesn't qualify to be included. I don't know if I ever thought it did.

I honestly think it's chemistry. One can have all the world in common with another person and yet, there is no attraction. Yet, a smile from a stranger makes your heart beat quicker. And having said it's about chemicals, I've as much as said it's a mystery to me.

I had it (whatever it is) with Jenny. I had it with, god help me, Ethan. I just hope someday I have it again.

**The First Time I Saw...**

The first time I saw Angel I was looking right at him and he wasn't there. To be more accurate I was standing in front of a glass-fronted bookcase in which I was reflected but he was not. He spoke to me and I almost shot right out of my skin at the surprise of having him standing right next to me.

He had come to me about something to do with the Master. After all this time, I'm not sure which crisis we were dealing with then. I could look it up in my notes, if need be.

He and Buffy had just discovered they were falling madly in love with each other. Opposites attracting doesn't begin to cover it. Nobody had yet met Angelus. He hadn't murdered Jenny or tortured me.

Seeing Angel for the first time, I was struck by his soft-spokenness. I don't think I'd ever had a rational conversation with a vampire before. If one is a thinking human, not just one who responds with cant and second hand ideas, the world and everything in it becomes more complex, a different tone of gray all the time. It's amazing how quickly I adapted to having a vampire confrere.

If I had known all that was coming…but that's futile, isn't it. We never do.

**Describe where you grew up**

I spent a good deal of time before I went away to school and during school holidays at my grandmother's house. My father was a Watcher based in London. He and my mother thought it was a city for adults and that a child was better off in the country.

I did enjoy myself there. There was lots of free time to knock around with the village children, playing at being pirates. My grandmother lived on the coast in Cornwall and there's a long tradition of smuggling and shipwrecks there. We could spend hours exploring caves near the sea, no doubt putting our lives at risk.

Mine was not one of those cuddly indulgent archetypes grandmothers one sees in advertisements. She, too, had been a Watcher. Later, when I was grown, I learned she had been the mentor of two Slayers. Both had been killed. She loved me, but she was not overly affectionate. She listened when I spoke, usually engaging me in debate when I was talking nonsense.

There was no television in her house. We read most nights.

Perhaps you meant for me to write a physical description of a house or room. I don't usually become attached to surroundings and rarely give them much of my attention. Her house was small, probably even smaller than I remember. I recall her garden very well. She and I spent long hours out there, and she would tell me the Latin names of plants, their medicinal properties, their traditional use in magic and folklore. I'm sure she was the best teacher I ever had.

****************************************************************************************

Giles turned the key in the lock and pushed open his door. He dropped his briefcase in the hall. On his way over to the sound equipment he loosened and slipped off his tie. He put his jacket on the back of the chair at the desk. He kicked off his shoes.

He always faced a decision at this point. Drink or music first? Some days it was pouring two fingers of Scotch, then cueing up LPs of Cream. Less frazzled occasions called for slipping in a jazz cd, maybe Miles before mixing a G&amp;T.

This was his time. Whoever was on duty at the Council, usually Andrew, knew Giles' phone was not to ring until 7PM unless somebody was dead. Somebody vital.

He sat for an hour, reviewing the day or not. There were times he turned his mind to a deserted beach and what it would be like to lie there indefinitely. When the hour was up, he gathered his discarded clothes for proper disposal. Then he showered and went out for one of the two evenings a week he forced himself to leave his flat, so that he wouldn't lose all social skills. Or he picked up his briefcase and did some paperwork.

********************************************************************************************  
**What is the one thing about yourself that you don't want anyone to know?**

You mean that troop of sins, failures and inadequacies that turn up to plague me on sleepless nights? Would I like to mention one? Discuss it in depth?

If one is the type of person given to introspection, examination of conscience if you will, then the older you get the more things you have for which to reproach yourself. Since I'm no longer in the field, having to make instant decisions and living, or not, by the consequences, I find second guessing myself a continuous plague. It's really not helpful and only leads to the above mentioned sleepless nights.

But, of course, the question here is, where are the dark places in my soul? A person who denies they exist is a fool or a hypocrite. I'll tell you one that doesn't make me glow with pride: I was envious of the Slayer.

I came to Sunnydale with dozens of books and a memory full of arcane knowledge. I had a role, a function. Looking back now, I realize I wanted to be a function. I wanted to have rules, and answers to all questions, and the correct choice in any given situation. It made me feel secure. My attitude was as much a shield against reality as my tweed jackets in the California climate. And about as absurd.

Dealing with the Slayer, and Buffy, as a person and personality, soon changed that. She cared very little for what the books said should happen. She was the embodiment of pragmatism. She took each situation as it was and decide what to do about it. I tried to guide her. And to equip her with the weapons; concentration, strength, focus, she would need. She worked hard at these lessons.

We clashed when I tried to impose my rigid system of values on her. She didn't know that I wished I could be free of them myself. Even I didn't know that then. But I came to see it.

I used to become so angry with her, dashing heedlessly about, as I saw it. But I envied her ability to embrace life, to commit herself wholeheartedly. I saw, eventually, that I hadn't chosen the narrow life of study that I was living; I had retreated into it. Backed away from life because I was afraid of the kind of life I had been living.

Being Buffy's Watcher helped me to live again.

**Have you ever betrayed someone's confidence? Has anyone ever betrayed you?**

Only when he was packing up his Watcher papers that he would give back to the Council did he allow the words into his consciousness: Only following orders.

Had his life come to that? Well, he had felt it was wrong from the beginning. Drugging Buffy, putting her deliberately in danger. It went against Xander would call his prime directive, to protect the Slayer in his charge. So, he had protested. And then went along with the plan. He betrayed her. He betrayed himself.

Perhaps, as he had just been fired, the Council saw his loyalty as belonging to them, not to his charge's well-being. Obedience counted more heavily than intelligence; that was true of all organizations, when one came to it. He should have remembered that.

Buffy's face as the truth of his underhandedness registered with her, he couldn't get it out of his mind. No doubt, he never would. The single word she said, "You...", that reverberated, too.

Job or not, he would stay in Sunnydale, trying to patch up what he had ruined. He'd had already taught his Slayer one important reality about being an adult. Sometimes people you love let you down. Yes, he and her father had pretty well covered that ground. He would see if he could help with the next part: that sometimes you can forgive and start again.

**What is the best gift you have ever given someone?**

At a question like that one naturally goes back through one's memories and wonders 'did I ever give anyone anything they wanted?...or anything at all?'

I've given books that recipients have said they'd treasure. Perhaps they have or perhaps they've lent them out and have completely lost track of them. I gave a feathered coat to lovely woman while under the thrall of a spell. Poor Joyce, how it must have embarrassed her to look at it.

I gave my forgiveness to a vampire who asked for it. And more quickly than I had given my forgiveness to the woman he killed.

I'd like to think I gave Buffy some sort of comfort and help. Something beyond background data and historical perspective for the demons she fought. But then, she gave me a reason to go on living when I'd just as soon not.

There is one gift that I take pride in having given. My return to the Watchers' Academy. The look on my father's face when I told him that I was planning to do that, that moment he looked ten years younger. Only then did I get an inkling of what the mess I had made of my life had cost him.

**Have you ever experienced something you couldn't explain? Write down your brushes with the mysterious.**

_...ghoulies and ghosties  
And long leggedy beasties  
And things that go bump in the night..._

I've been schooled in all that my whole life. If one accepts the life I have, one accepts the unexplainable. Evil exists. Without rhyme or reason or intelligent design.

That doesn't mean I don't find some things mysterious. The Slayer histories I've read have always emphasized the uniqueness of the chosen girl. Her aloneness, if you will, in facing the forces of darkness. Yet, when I began my duties in Sunnydale, my Slayer came with a brace of friends ready to risk death for her and a vampire who fell in love with her. That fit my interpretation of mysterious.

Even more puzzling was my becoming a part of the gestalt of the Slayer. I was to be Watcher. I was to train, research, advise, and record. I never meant to lend an ear to stories of broken hearts, or fix Thanksgiving dinners, or baby-sit, yet, eventually I did. Because I became part of the Slayer's family and she, and all that came with her, became mine.

**Time when you overcame serious self-doubt.**

I will talk about the most observable time. I mean it was observed by everyone around me. Most self-doubt is, thank god, hidden, except on American television talk shows.

I betrayed my Slayer, I betrayed my loyalty to the council, I lost my job as Watcher, and I blew up my school library, thus effectively losing that job also. I had no reason to get out of bed each morning and I was left with a feeling within myself that I was not to be trusted.

Those months I count the most difficult of my life. I had struggled and come to grips with danger and death, but in the face of my life being a total blank, I seemed to be at a loss. My Slayer had been dealt heartbreak and she had turned away from the Council's official sanction, but she was young and saw life as adventures and fresh starts. I felt—no, I was—alone in a foreign country with no purpose. I lacked the will even to go home.

Did I overcome my doubts? Well, life happens, doesn't it? I made some feeble attempts at a mid-life crisis. The impractical red sports car, a tweed jacket in a brighter color, I may even have gotten a different frame for my glasses. But then I bought the magic store and became busy enough so I forgot that I was forlorn, at least in good measure. I still have self-doubts; every intelligent person who isn't a raving sociopath does. I find the trick is, to keep busy. And leave your mind alone.

**Who do you need to forgive?**

Through the open window the middle-of-the-night air wafted in. It smelled fresh and had a hint of the ocean in it. Xander, bare footed, drifted around the kitchen trying to assemble a sandwich. He'd been having an enjoyable erotic dream featuring some of the slayers in the house when it turned disturbing in the non-erotic way. He was on the ocean, on a raft that was held together by scrunchies; a ship heaved to. He thought help had come. A head appeared over the boat's side. It was that Stephen King clown, laughing and pointing. That brought him to wide-awakeness.

So now he had the heel of one loaf topped with a slice lunch meat and one of cheese and he was scrounging around trying to bookend them. He found a one piece of whole wheat with a small spot of green on the edge. He nipped it off. He rummaged around the back of the fridge to find the mustard with the horseradish. All the while he was trying to think of name of that damned clown.

He couldn't turn on the radio; everybody else in the house was asleep or pretending to be. Maybe they were just lying staring at the ceiling thinking about vampires. And about dying. After all these years, he'd just as soon think about sandwiches. He decided to cut this one in thirds.

He leaned against the counter as he slowly chewed on the first piece. He thought about things to be done around the house, groceries they needed to buy, wondered about the next chapter in the Giles, Buffy saga. He wasn't startled by the noise in the doorway; his eyes just lost their unfocused look. It was one of the girls, looking sleepy and about 12 years old.

"Hey, Vi."

"Xander. I was asleep; then I got up."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. You ok?"

The girl nodded, then pushed back the hair that had fallen over her eyes. She said, "Sure. I'm far from home, in a houseful of strangers, with the threat of imminent death over me. You gonna eat that whole sandwich?"

He pushed the paper towel with the last third over to her. "It's got the spicy mustard," he warned.

Her strong white teeth clamped together on a big bite; after a few chews she said, "'S good. Hey, what was with the slamming doors earlier and the gloomy Giles? All kinds of drama. Like we need some more."

Xander brushed one hand over the counter, cupping the other at the edge to catch the crumbs. He was deciding how much a soldier needs to know about her generals. "Giles tried to have Spike killed. Behind Buffy's back."

"No crap? Spike? Why?"

"Giles doesn't trust him. Because of the First taking him over. And other things."

"But Spike was helping in the training. And he has a soul. And I thought they got rid of the First, in him."

Xander recognized that bewildered expression she had on. He'd worn himself a lot since junior year in high school. Oh god, high school seemed like a lot of years ago.

Vi was going on, "Did you know about this? Isn't Spike your friend?"

"This was strictly a Giles thing." Xander was just glad he hadn't known beforehand. "And Spike is, well, not really a friend. More like a war buddy. Somebody you don't mind sharing a foxhole with. But you don't want him marrying your sister."

"You have a sister?"

"No, no," he said, "it's just an expression. Anyway, there's a lot of history between Giles and Buffy and Spike."

Vi said, "Tell me! No, wait." She got a carton of milk from the refrigerator, took a couple of glasses from the cabinet, put everything on the counter. She opened the cabinet with the pots and pans and reaching all the way in the back, pulled out an open bag of cookies. "Secret stash," she said. "Now tell."

Xander grabbed one of the chocolate cookies and took a bite out of it, stalling for time. He'd already decided he was on the soldiers-right-to-know side, but how much would be too much? If there was going to be tension in the house, and by the look on Buffy's and Giles' faces, you were going to able to eat tension with a spoon, there'd be talk and gossip. Just as good to have somebody spreading something with a little background in it. His body gave a little jolt. "Pennywise!" he said.

"What?"

"Sorry, that's the name of the clown in the Stephen King book. It just came to me. I was dreaming about him. Speaking of scary stories...Giles and Buffy and Spike, huh?"

"Yeah, come on. You all go way back. What's up?"

"Ok, I'll hit some of the high points. But only because you offered cookies." Xander paused, choosing a place to start. "You know Buff and Spike were...together, for a while, right?"

"Yeah, everybody says."

"Well, she was in love with another vampire, before. Angel. I'm telling you this because, well, it's a whole Giles, Buffy thing. Angel has a soul but he's got a curse, too. He can turn bad. You know, very, very bad. And he did that one time and he killed Giles' friend, his girlfriend."

"Giles had a girlfriend? Wow, I mean." A variety of expressions crossed the girl's face.

Xander remembering his own teen-aged disbelief at the notion said, "Old people sometimes do get together. But anyway, when Angel gets evil, he's called Angelus. He killed Jenny. And Buffy sent him to hell, but like happens a lot around here, he came back. Good again. And Giles managed to forgive him."

"Uh-huh. But he wants Spike dead? What did Spike do to him?"

Xander gestured with the chocolate wafer he was holding, "That's the question. Nothing as bad as murdering a loved one, and yet, he really gets on Giles' nerves. Always has. I got a theory, though."

"OK, what?"

"Well, you just see Giles as he is now. All tweedy and book smart. But he was different when he was young. I've seen pictures. He was a regular Sid Vicious type."

"Who?"

This kid was making him feel old. "Never mind. Giles was a wild kid who dabbled in magic. And it turned out real bad. So he reformed and became a Watcher."

"But what's this got to do with Spike?"

"That's where my theory comes in. I think Giles sees himself in Spike. You know, the bad guy he tried to put behind him. But Spike won't go away. And no matter how he changes, Giles just sees Ripper, that's what Giles used to be called, when he looks at Spike."

Vi drank the last of her milk slowly. Then said, "Wow, people are really more complicated than you think, huh?"

Xander gave a small snort. "I'd keep that "Ripper" name to yourself, if you can. Giles wouldn't think it was funny. I don't think he'll ever forgive Spike for existing 'til he forgives himself for "Ripper".

Vi yawned. Xander said, "I think you should try to get back to sleep now. I wash the glasses and hide the cookies. Ok?"

"Ok. Thanks, Xan. Great story." She headed out of the room, giving him a small wave.

Xander tidied up the kitchen. Then he went out to the back porch to sit, waiting to watch the sun come up.

I don't explain it; I just gratefully accept it.

**What do you think when you look in the mirror?**

Not much if I don't have my glasses on or am not very, very close. If I _can_ see myself, I probably just look to see if I need a shave. I don't look for white hairs; I'm just grateful I have some hair, no matter what the colour.

The signs of the wear and tear of life creep up on one. It would be horrifying if we made the facial and body transitions that happen from twenty to fifty in one day or one week. Perhaps that's why school reunions are always such an ordeal. We don't notice time's erosion on ourselves, but we see them quite clearly on our contemporaries.

Once again I've wandered around a bit when exploring the question. I imagine the short answer would have to be: When I look in the mirror and don't see a Fyarl demon looking back, I think 'oh, very good'.

**Talk about losing control.**

That morning he makes himself a proper cup of tea. He brings the teapot down from the shelf, warming it, of course, before adding the tea leaves and hot water. There have been quite a few mornings in the past few years when he was grateful, or even surprised, to be alive and he always tries to savor them with this small gesture.

He sits on the couch, clutching the mug but ignoring the morning paper. He thinks about his close call last night. He must look through the Watchers' Diaries to see if any Slayer has actually killed her Watcher. Perhaps even when the Watcher wasn't disguised as a demon. Surely there have been Watchers more annoying then he, and in combination with a Slayer even more erratic than Buffy...

His eye catches Ethan's shirt he wore home, now discarded and peeking out of the waste bin. The man's choice of material, real silk, was improved but not his sense of style. Really, he was a most infuriating man. It's as though he's crossed the line from worshipping Chaos to being Chaos. Truth be told, that was once exciting. Being near Ethan. Ethan pried him away from his predestination, at least for a little while. Until he understood what 'out of control' meant. Lost friends, dead bodies, endless regret. He had only to clap eyes on Ethan to churn it all up.

A sip of tea, then, to calm himself down. Yes, he was calm, in fact, becalmed. _As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean_, that about described it. It wasn't just the aftereffects of a tumultuous night. It struck him, sitting as he was on his couch, with no job and no official Watcher duties, that there are other ways to lose control of oneself. There's the explosive way, all frenetic activity and addictive behavior that ends in death, if one is lucky, or an all-too-long something that only resembles life, if one is not. And there's the way he's lost control. Allowing it to leak away. His life was a deflated balloon. He was quite entranced by the metaphor, conjuring up a sad, rainy Blackpool boardwalk of his youth, and in the gutter a large pastel balloon, now of no use to anyone.

But his tea was growing cold, time to refill the cup. Then a shower and a brisk walk, or perhaps the other way about. He drank his second cup while he decided his day.

**A Picture Prompt of Venice**

"Why are you smiling?" she asked.

"I'm smiling at this. The normality of it. A quiet dinner and a movie. A date."

Jenny leaned her head on the tweed shoulder. "Yes, for once no emergencies involving the Hellmouth and the things it spawns." She reached over to the car radio and fiddled with the dials. "I say we should celebrate with some music. How does this work? Or does it work?"

Giles let go of the stick shift to thump the radio with the heel of his hand. "Of course it works. There, see." A quartet, perhaps playing Mozart, began giving a fairly muted performance.

"Yes, I see. Very nice, not overpowering." Sighing, she continued, "It was a lovely movie. Venice and all."

"It was very enjoyable, quite different from the usual film fare. Though, of course, in the customary Hollywood style they got the facts all wrong. I mean, Veronica Franco wasn't the dewy-eyed innocent; I read up on her before we went, I think..."

Jenny interrupted firmly, "Rupert, it was a love story with gorgeous costumes and gondolas and heroine in peril. It was not a history lesson. We're on a moonlight drive after a perfect evening. We should talk about appropriate things. Now, wasn't Venice enchanting?"

Giles smiled down at her. "Yes. Very lovely. Much like I remember it."

"You've been there?"

"Once, on school holiday. With a group of 14 year old boys. I don't think we absorbed much history. I think the teachers' main accomplishment was keeping any of us from falling into the canals. Since they did that, they probably considered it a very successful trip. Have you been to Italy at all?"

Jenny shifted slightly and resettled herself. "Not, really. Not to stay." She said in a brighter tone, "We should go. You could take me on a gondola ride. It must be like punting on the Thames. You've done that, haven't you or does that only happen in books?"

"Yes, I have and that time I did end up in the water." Giles had pulled the car off the road, onto a small promontory overlooking the ocean. They sat in silence for a while, then Giles said, "I think we'd enjoy Venice, I mean, together. Let's think about it."

"Yes, let's," said Jenny.

**What are you happy about right now?**

It's raining outside and I'm inside. That's always a welcome situation. I'm fed, rested, warm. That sounds unbearably dull, doesn't it? Yet, as one ages one understands the appreciation of simple comforts, and sees that they are not available to everyone. So it behooves one to be grateful.

Is this happiness? No. Happiness is a less palpable condition. It's your heart quickening as the time approaches for seeing someone you love. It's feeling loved. It's laughing out loud with your friends. It's giving your heart away.

Right now, I have important work to do. I am valued. I guide the young and though they aren't always appreciative, they are respectful. I've had love in my life and I've turned away from it or had it taken from me. Happiness is usually an ephemeral thing.

Am I happy? No, but I'm obliged to be content.

**Talk about a moving act of kindness you experienced or witnessed**

I could talk about my family, of course. How they welcomed me back after I'd gone so far astray. I've no doubt my parents are the reason Ethan and I led such different lives, even though our two lives were once so intertwined. I had something to which to return, while he did not.

But a different instance came first to my mind. It was after Buffy plummeted off the tower; for days afterward we were in shock. There were discussions about a suitable burial spot that in my remembrance have a nightmare quality about them. (Dawn's sobbing at her realization that her sister could not rest beside her mother is not something I like to recall). Once that sad duty was taken care of, the realities of ordinary life asserted themselves.

Of course, I felt some responsibility for Dawn. I was the oldest and had been her sister's teacher and Watcher for some time. I wondered if it was going to be best for Dawn to go to her father, assuming we could locate him and further assuming he was in any condition to take care of a young girl. I can't say I felt decisive about the matter. I felt lost in such a fog of grief and regret. I just knew that something had to be done for Buffy's younger sister.

That's when Willow and Tara came to me with their plan. They proposed moving in with Dawn. Willow had already thought about what the loss of the Slayer would mean to the Hellmouth. She proposed reanimating the Buffybot. She said life should go on much as before for us and Dawn.

I found this overwhelming. That these young people, who could have been free to pursue their own lives, should want to take up the burden of caring for a teenager and to continue fighting the Hellmouth's demons without the protection of the Slayer, moved me beyond words. They, Willow, Tara, Xander, would listen to no objections. And, of course, as always in the case of true kindness, they saw nothing extraordinary in their actions. They even accepted Spike into their midst, for the sake of Buffy.

I found it all quite moving.


End file.
